


Paladin On Bended Knee

by Pippin4242



Series: His Beloved Armour [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Chastity Device, Edging, F/M, Femdom, Orgasm Denial, background Reaper76 - Freeform, caged dick, written before release of honor and glory, young!ana, young!rein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin4242/pseuds/Pippin4242
Summary: For all his loud enthusiasm, Reinhardt was still capable of finer feelings. Like getting his neck stepped on.





	1. Her Home

Gibraltar appeared beneath him, rows of houses neatly laid out like a child's game. The white hotels, the blocks of flats and the great wide roads stood out to him: they made the place seem modern and stark and overplanned. It looked like places looked on television, and that made him uncomfortable.

Reinhardt didn't actually have a window seat, and nor was the window seat presently unoccupied: he'd been given the two centre and aisle seats, and was looking straight over the head of his rowmate as they came in to land. She seemed uncomfortable with his presence, and had been concertedly not staring at him since their departure from Gatwick less than three hours earlier. She had shuffled and stared fixedly out of the window when he arrived, and had aggressively not stared when he lifted the armrest and sat carefully between the seats. She then very clearly hadn't stared at him when he had to request a seatbelt extender from the weary stewardess, who didn't seem quite sure of what his problem was, and actually wasn't staring at all.

The weariness of this protracted case of being not stared at was starting to make him itch for a drink, but he'd only been offered right at the start of this cheap flight, while he'd still been thinking he might make a new friend any moment now.

He missed Balderich already.

\---

The lady who came to meet him at the airport was blonde, pleasant, and relentlessly bland. She looked him up and down just once, shook his hand (or at least, some of it) supplied her forgettable name and rank, and escorted him to a military issue Jeep which stood out amongst the ranks of rental cars and taxis. Holidaymakers already starting to let their hair down were overexcited as he walked by. One man dragging a sit-on suitcase pointed him out to his disinterested children; another, in a pre-drunk stag group, whooped and screamed something incomprehensible, though apparently friendly. The crowds were unusually white, to his eye, and made him uncomfortable with a prickling sensation he felt unable to name, and not entitled to own.

The front passenger seat was too narrow, and he had to hunker down in the back of the Jeep, without a seatbelt.

He missed Stuttgart, too.

\---

The base was more familiar, more like home. Certainly, the airy hangar where a flustered Morrison finally greeted him was bigger and more stark than anything he'd been used to with the Crusaders, but of course the base was still only half-opened, and its lockers and vehicles and the mere fact of the beautiful view cleared out the stuck parts of his mind. Reinhardt found himself renewing his resolve to do three things: have fun, make friends, and most of all, do good. And yet, though he introduced himself to various people as they skittered about the anthill base, he could easily sense their purpose and belonging, and could see that either his presence or his demeanour gave them pause.

His power armour was supposed to follow him, delivered in a secure vehicle. Reinhardt's luggage, therefore, was also held up: what's a few bags compared to the great reinforced crate he'd supervised whilst loading in Stuttgart? He'd stuffed his other possessions in the bottom of it, as an afterthought. But now he felt unpleasantly underdressed in his plain t-shirt and khakis. It seemed there was a uniform of sorts, and he hadn't been offered one yet: it was either an omission, or they frankly didn't have one to fit him. He stood head and shoulders and then some over even the tallest men here: some women seemed well below his chest. It wasn't just something which made him stand out in an unfamiliar place – it was actually making people jumpy, himself included, as he completely failed to notice some of the shorter soldiers, and as they occasionally failed to parse his humanity, and mistook him on some level for scenery. He would step dangerously out in front of them; they would shout and drop things. Embarrassing.

A uniformed young woman appeared to be as aimless as he currently felt, and he took it upon himself to tactfully sit on a bench nearby, and _then_ attempt an introduction.

“Greetings!” he hailed her, cheerily.

“Hi,” she said, and approached him, an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Reinhardt Wilhelm, at your service,” he found himself unable not to say, and took a knee before her, grinning.

“Kate Tanner,” she said, a little guardedly, but she shook quite a lot of his hand anyway. “You're new, right? Want me to show you where stuff is?”

“Is it _Ms_ Tanner? But then, surely a knight should answer only to a _lady_ ,” he smiled, still gently holding her hand. He was expecting a comeback, and had furthermore been rather taken by her noble bearing. What Reinhardt was _really_ hoping to know was her rank, so that he might address her appropriately, playfulness aside. The basic staff uniforms a lot of the groundworkers seemed to be wearing didn't display any standard military insignia, and it was confusing to his eye. He was entering with a rank of his own, and it wouldn't do to lord it over people or to be unnecessarily obsequious, and throw people off their game.

“You only had to say 'no,'” she muttered, and stalked off.

It felt like being plunged into cold water. What had just happened? Was it the knight and lady bit? Did she hate it? Should he not have asked? His stomach felt as though it was dancing a rumba. It must have been the knight and lady bit. Did she think he was _mocking_ her? But to be held in high esteem as a fine lady was surely the height of flattering respect. Perhaps that wasn't universal? But in the Crusaders, there had been a shared notion of using traditional imagery to uplift and support the female members, who were after all smaller both in stature and numbers.

That wouldn't fly here. Duly noted.

Reinhardt clambered quickly back to his feet, feeling a faint twinge in his hip as he tried to pretend that he'd just been... inspecting the tarmac, nothing important, certainly not interacting with anybody else who'd since vanished. The twinge bothered him – probably just a facet of his awkward movement, but he weighed so much already that it was hell on his joints a lot of the time. What was he going to be like as an old man? Wheelchair-bound, most likely. He dreaded the day he wouldn't be able to strap on the power armour himself. Not that it had shown any sign of appearing on the base yet. The sun was going down and his sensible white t-shirt was starting to feel like it wasn't enough coverage any more. He didn't much mind the cold, but at this point he really didn't want to have to deal with hardened-nipples at other people's eye level well as everything else. He untied and shook out his hair, leaving the scrunchie around his wrist. At least his neck would be warm. And his shoulders, and upper back, and mid back.

The wind picked up, and started to throw his hair around. Reinhardt ducked inside, not wanting to look like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards before he met anybody else, but the damage was probably already done.

He _really_ missed Eichenwalde.

\---

The armour showed up soon enough, and nobody seemed to think it had been an issue. He gratefully unpacked it himself, and checked each piece over for possible damage. Reinhardt knew each piece _better_ than the back of his hand, for his hands had simply grown as they were, and hadn't been honed and refined into something beautiful and filled with noble purpose. He joined them meticulously, one by one, to the backplate power source, and had the onboard AI run system checks. There were 72 pieces. Each was perfect.

The straw smelled like home.

As an afterthought, he dug through the bottom of the crate until he found his bags, and stomped off to find out where he was meant to be staying.

\---

Dinner was served in a mess hall. Reinhardt sat alone and wondered why the food didn't taste of anything. Perhaps it was the absence of alcohol. Everything seemed too new and too clean. Some of the chairs still had _plastic sheeting_ over their shiny surfaces. Self-consciously, trying to stay quiet, Reinhardt peeled the whole sheet off one of them, then looked around for a bin and couldn't find it.

Wow. Didn't even talk to anybody, and still found a way to inconvenience everyone and make them uncomfortable. _Way to go, Paladin!_

He left the plastic film scrunched up as small as he could get it, alongside his empty tray. Presumably somebody would be picking that up later, then.

Little groups of people seemed to form and break apart, in some kind of natural dance which probably had a scientific name he wasn't aware of. Everyone seemed to know someone, and everyone had their own purpose.

Reinhardt thought they looked like dust motes in a sunbeam, but he felt more like water trickling down a wet window, as he slowly, awkwardly, blundered into things, and moved erratically, devoid of direction and yet dragged ever downwards.

\---

He masturbated before sleep that night, in the too-short bed they'd hastily moved half an armchair up to the end of, then put sheets over it as if he wouldn't notice. The door only opened halfway now, and he absolutely did notice. It was still too short.

Like the taste of his food, his orgasm didn't feel like much of anything. It was vaguely satisfying, and seemed to sate a need. 

He turned after he finished and saw only a pure white wall where a comrade should have been.

Reinhardt missed Balderich more than anything.


	2. Her Strategy

The next morning found Reinhardt replenished and excited. He was determined not to let his initial disappointment and confusion bring him down! Today was a new day. The seagulls were screaming, the waves were crashing, and he could already hear the sounds of Jeep engines and people talking in the mid-distance.

The shower was cold, but that suited him just fine. It got his blood up nicely. Pulling on a full clean outfit felt fantastic. Pretty much the same as yesterday – old military-issue trousers, and another crisp cotton t-shirt – this one a softer brushed fabric, in dark blue. He combed through his wet hair and tied it up to dry in a high ponytail. It dripped down his back but he wasn't about to spend hours searching for a hairdryer – not when there was work to be done!

Even the mediocre food seemed to have a bit more flavour this morning. Maybe it was just the humming fluorescent lights which seemed to deaden his senses at dinner last night? He was near a window this time. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence. Reinhardt resolved to take his food outside whenever possible. He glanced around himself, wondering if any of the nearby Overwatch employees or members might like to join him. Maybe, but not just yet.

He found himself wandering off towards the cliffs, still eating an apple. Most apples had seemed rather too small to be enjoyable to him since he'd hit his adult height, but he missed the simple pleasure of eating something so natural and self-contained, so Reinhardt liked to force himself to take small, neat bites, and make the apple last. He peered into the rippling water, wondering if he'd be able to see any sealife from this height if it was there. He didn't notice the person silently following him, with quick, booted footsteps.

“Herr Wilhelm?” came a sharp, firm voice.

He turned. A serious woman stood glaring up at him, appraising. She was lovely, but many were – what Reinhardt found more immediately compelling than her sheets of raven hair, her slim waist, or her perfect brown skin (and he could hardly deny that these things were indeed compelling) – was the harsh, focused intent in her black-brown eyes. He found himself temporarily overcome, unable to reply.

“Yes. I mean. I am. Sir?” He felt himself blush. Why was English awkward for him all of a sudden? He'd been perfectly comfortable in English since he was just a boy! This was completely embarrassing.

“'Sir' will suffice, if it is how you feel most comfortable in addressing me,” said the woman, with immense dignity, and appeared to judge his expression in search of mockery.

Reinhardt's knees felt weak. His hand went to his hair – was it, was it neat? Did it look good? Ugh.

He tried again. At first no words came out at all, and a faint strangulated seagull caw was all he could manage. He turned it into an obviously fake cough.

The woman stared, giving the impression of a patience she was almost doubtless incapable of feeling. He tried. Again.

“I'm – I'm Reinhardt. Yes. Sorry, sir. You took me by surprise.”

“Clearly,” she said, a faint curl at the edge of her mouth. “Finish your food and then come with me.”

Reinhardt could imagine doing no other thing, and had completely forgotten about the apple. He finished it, core and all, in a couple of bites, and then needlessly brushed his hands off against his trousers in an attempt to look prepared and attentive. The woman waited for slightly too long, he felt, before she gave him a 'hmmph' of apparent approval, and stalked away, clearly expecting him to follow.

He followed.

The control bay she led him to had a great window which took up much of the wall, and an extraordinary view of the sea. Reinhardt could see the Spanish coast on the horizon, indistinct and craggy. A planning table dominated the room, and a freestanding green blackboard contained a great deal of inscrutable information. As they entered, the woman span the board forcefully, so that the only the blank side faced them. A variety of chairs were strewn around the room as if a meeting had been called off, and the mismatched mugs seemed to attest to that.

She took a seat at the head of the table, in easy reach of the green blackboard. “Sit,” she said, simply.

Reinhardt sat on the nearest seat, forgetting himself, and flinched as it creaked and shuddered beneath his mighty weight. But it held fast.

She laid her hands flat on the table and leaned forward, somehow imperious in her wheeled office chair. He found himself thinking of Bright Brynhildr leading a charge, though this woman before him did no more than fix her eyes upon his. There was a symbol painted? tattooed? under one of her eyes and he had no idea what it meant, and he was starting to feel lightheaded.

“Name and rank?” she asked, coolly. Her hair was draped slightly over the edge of the table as she leaned forward. He could feel a pulse in his mouh.

“Reinhardt. Wilhelm,” he gulped, “Löwenritter of the Crusaders.” He knew this rank was likely to mystify, and clarified, “formerly Deutsches Heer Oberleutnant. Which is, um, First Lieutenant of the German Land Army.”

“Löwenritter Wilhelm,” she said, in an admirable but plainly non-conversant attempt at pronunciation, “my name is Ana Amari. My rank in the Egyptian Armed Forces was Molazim Awwal, equivalent to your own rank of First Lieutenant. Here I am your superior, Lieutenant Amari.”

The accent was Egyptian then – her native language, Arabic? 

“Your precise rank within Overwatch has yet to be assigned. Rest assured that we are aware of your highly decorated past both with the German Land Army and in your own... more specialised group. I am, furthermore, aware that your personal and military history, your unique physique, and your highly original use of power armour as a single manned unit make you a most formidable force, but also an extremely unusual, and dare I say, rather _untested_ quantity. And yet,” she tapped a pen against the edge of the table testily, “I am to bring a formal report before Captain Morrison by the end of the afternoon, explaining how best to integrate you and your fighting style into our group of heroes.” She enunciated the final word with what seemed to be mild distaste.

He found himself quietly grateful that she might well not know what a _Ritter_ was, but unable to stop himself from speaking up, burst out “Are you not convinced, Sir, that heroes have a place in this world?”

She met his gaze evenly. “I will not complain if others find use for noble storybook imagery. I dare say it serves a purpose in terms of PR, and gives civilians something to look to when the true details of a fighting unit may be unknowable. But for myself, if you are asking, I feel no need to align my image with any heroic ideal. I am a sniper by skill, and so I prefer quiet places and shadows. My work has no noble heritage, no great legends.”

Reinhardt found himself shaken to silence.

“No... great legends? Why then, what of the story of William Tell, a simple man who stood up to a tyrant and was forced to shoot an apple upon the head of his young son? Or if they've got to be _verifiable_ , well what about Simo Häyhä, the White Death? Lyudmila Pavlychenko, served in Odessa _and_ Sevastopol, over three hundred kills if I'm not mistaken –” He met her eyes, and realised his mistake quickly.

“Quite,” she said, dryly.

He stared fixedly at the shiny floor instead. “I believe I misspoke, Sir. I apologise. It was not my place.” He was aware that 'sir' might be grating, but now he couldn't imagine calling her anything else. Reinhardt hoped desperately that, on this occasion at least, his total sincerity might be obvious.

“Returning to matters of strategy,” Lieutenant Amari said, a little pointedly, “while I can plainly see you are a man of some knowledge and experience, I struggle to see how you will fit into what I had been told was to be something of a stealth force. Plainly put: what fighting style can a sniper and a... knight with a gigantic rocket hammer have in common?”

Reinhardt found himself stumped too. “Sir, I can only tell you that I fought alongside men and women of a similar fighting school in Eichenwalde. I was more subdued in the army, but I am led to understand that I have been summoned for my unique qualities, rather than my ability to play well with others.”

It was a _mistake_. She thought inviting him here was a _mistake_.

They sat in silence for a painful length of time. Reinhardt's chair began to squeak plaintively. He felt completely exposed, and was trying to suppress the urge to cry.

He couldn't take it any more, and broke the silence.

“I do have a shield...”

“I'll bet you do,” sighed Lieutenant Amari, and Reinhardt had to excuse himself.


	3. Her Measure

Reinhardt was not afraid of tears. He was a knight and a soldier, not a poser, nor a very young man trying to prove himself. Tears were an expression of his human nature, and what sort of a warrior would he be if he ever allowed himself to forget his humanity? Yet as with everything, there was a time and a place where tears might be considered appropriate, and this was not it. At first he tried to restrain himself, to wipe his eyes and lean against the wall and recover quickly, but it wasn't happening.

The perceived slights began to pile up. The loneliness and isolation, the times he'd tried to reach out to people and had been rebuffed, the terrible night's sleep he'd had on the too-short bed. His _armour_ had arrived late and he'd been _worried_ and the food tasted awful and everybody else knew where they were supposed to be all the time and worst of all, _Balderich wasn't here_.

Reinhardt gritted his teeth against it all, but soon found himself reduced to sobs, squeezed out through his closed mouth, and he rubbed his leaking eyes with the back of his hand.

Perhaps Lieutenant Amari was being considerate, or perhaps she had given up on him completely. He could hardly remember what he'd said as he'd blustered out of the door. Something about getting some air, he suspected. An old euphemism. Surely she would know already that he had left in order to avoid an emotional display. Was she being discreet or did she think he wasn't worth following? That he had somehow left altogether? Most unlikely that he should up and leave without his armour, and on an island, albeit one he knew to be served by a bridge. Not that he would know how to find it.

His eyes itched. He gave in and let the tears flow.

Ten minutes later, he felt much smaller and much weaker, but the tension in his body and mind had subsided to a low rumble from the roar it had been. Lieutenant Amari clearly knew her job, whether or not they saw eye to eye. If the worst came to the worst, why then she would simply send him home again to Stuttgart, and his armour to follow. No more bland food, no more sea air, and no more tiny empty bed.

He might miss the opportunity to get to know the sea a little better, and the strange colourful base, in all its newness, but he doubted Ana Amari or Kate Tanner would be missing him. If it happened. Which it might yet not.

Reinhardt took a deep breath, and felt his toes tingle as he tried to come back to himself. He pictured Balderich's disapproving face, and he slowed his breathing right back down again. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. He remembered the smell of Balderich's hair. He went back into the office, and gave Lieutenant Amari a sunny smile.

“Many thanks to you, Sir.” He took his seat once more. “I admit I am still a little strained from the travel. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much by taking some air and leaving you to think.”

She smiled graciously, though he couldn't help but wonder what was behind her expression. He hoped his own face didn't give too much away.

“Sir?” he asked, carefully.

“Speak.”

“Might I humbly suggest that we return to the point of order upon which I left the room?”

“The shield?” She had the grace to look, if not embarrassed, then at least as though the possibility of remorse might be an option.

“Sir, if you please, the shield has a maximum current width of twenty-five feet, and a stable width of twenty. There are presently upgrades being devised for the system upon which it is based, and it is plausible that future capacity and battery life may still yet be improved. It is programmable with energy signatures for a variety of weapons, meaning there is zero chance of impact from friendly fire, effectively making it a one-way wall, from both sides. My tech people have not yet found a weapon, no matter how unusual, that they could not kludge a code for.”

She met his eyes with her continuous dark gaze. He felt buoyed, and continued.

“I propose to you that my chief use to a team of specialists is that I may serve primarily in a defensive capacity. My size and mobility allow me to defend many people on the fly, and I believe such a strategy may be used to reverse the tide of events should things go south.”

“Very well,” she said, evenly. “We shall draw up a plan on this basis. Perhaps there will be time for a demonstration.”

\---

“A tennis pitcher?”

“A handy device for projecting ricochet.” Lieutenant Amari informed him with smooth confidence. “Besides, the balls show up well on camera.”

“Very well.” Reinhardt looked around the hangar, making sure out of habit that nobody was looking in on his practice session and putting themselves in harm's way. He had not attempted to put on his armour, as he had no desire to keep her waiting any longer. But this much he would allow himself – a shout to get his blood up again. “ _Ehre und ruhm_!” he roared at the ceiling, giving rise to a rippling metal echo, and Lieutenant Amari switched the pitcher on. She stepped curtly behind a perspex screen and crossed her arms to observe.

It whirred and vibrated. He stood his ground. He saw a luminous green shape, counted _one_ second, and then – generated the shield. The first ball hit it with a very audible thump, which echoed throughout the empty hangar, and it bounced harmlessly away. Then the second struck, and the third. Lieutenant Amari delicately reached out from behind her barrier and flicked a couple of switches.

A flurry of balls hurtled towards his face. For a moment, Reinhardt found himself thinking of his first night amongst the Crusaders. They were easily deflected.

“Is that the best you can do?” he shouted over the machine noise and the thuds on his shield to Lieutenant Amari, as a challenge.

She reached over again and fiddled with some knobs. The speed of the shots increased a little, and then the machine ran out of tennis balls completely. They both stared at the quietly vibrating pitcher.

“Oh,” said Reinhardt, lamely.

“Mmmm,” agreed Lieutenant Amari. She stared at the balls for a while. They were slowly collecting in a sort of luminous hairy drift at the bottom of the hangar slope. There were at least a couple of hundred of them, if Reinhardt was any judge.

He turned his shield's backup generator off and lowered the central cross. “Sir, would you like me to, um...” He spread his arms wide at the tennis chaos.

“No, no, we have people for that. Doubtless it will focus somebody's mind. Perhaps as a punishment. With me again. Come.”

He followed.

\---

“We have, I think, the beginnings of a focus for your abilities. I would like you to attend our next live fire practice session tomorrow morning, at 0600 hours.”

Reinhardt felt nothing at this. No joy at being wanted after all, because it _still_ might not work out. None of the problems he'd been considering had actually gone away. But it also seemed that he'd stepped away from that apparently bottomless pit of despair he'd been staring into earlier.

Lieutenant Amari was still deeply compelling, but he felt he had to keep a distance, partly because he respected her, and partly because he needed his respect to be obvious. And besides, he had a feeling he knew what she thought of him. Fantasist, dreamer, anachronism. He'd heard such accusations before. How to tell people that – for him, at least – dreams were what infused his life with fire and joy? That he was an ordinary man, and had the normal range of human feelings, even if he did live in the mountains in an order of knights and whiz around in armour flailing a rocket hammer.

It wasn't like Reinhardt didn't _know_ he looked unusual, or that his way of looking at things seemed to be out of touch. But it worked, and he'd been so happy. And now he was here as an emissary of the Crusaders, their representative, a knight amongst knights. It was a great honour to be sent away.

Still, he wished he'd not set off so cheerfully. He wished he'd prepared a little more. He wished he'd thought a bit about how people outside Eichenwalde's tall trees and stone buildings did things, about the systems they bought into, and about their infrastructure.

Because he wanted to call Balderich and tell him _everything_ , but in all his life, he'd never quite gotten round to buying a phone.


	4. Her Trust

Whether because of the energy he'd expended crying, or because he'd spent the hours until night fell walking around the edge of the base, trying not to fall into rabbit holes, Reinhardt slept better that night – not well, but much better. He moved the chair away from the bed so it was pressed right up against the door, and rested his feet on it over the little gap this created. It _really_ wasn't ideal, and he felt reasonably sure that if he stayed here much longer, if he could prove himself _worth_ it, perhaps he could tell people that this setup was going to hurt him before too long, and request a specialist bed and mattress.

But he'd seen _bats_ in the dusk, tiny little squeaking streaks, and now he was a little bit in love with the island. He hadn't come across any macaques yet – did they stick more to urban areas, or had they been driven away from the base? – but he was still hoping to see a dolphin or a porpoise.

He dreamed of tall trees, and of the pattern shadows made on the forest floor.

\---

The setup for the live fire exercise was extensive, and lengthy. Reinhardt's mind flashed back guiltily to his awkward sleeping arrangements, to which he still hadn't alerted anyone, as he struggled to focus on the exact schematics to which he was being expected to agree. When they brought a waiver before him he felt it difficult to focus on the bland English text with its sneaky complexities, and elected to just stare at it for what seemed to be the right amount of time and then sign it anyway, with a flourish. It was a little disconcerting to be unsure of what he'd signed, but then, he ate the food they provided him, he drank the water. He went where Lieutenant Amari ordered him to. Why should the live fire exercise be any different? Still, if she'd asked him directly whether he knew what he was signing up for, he felt sure he'd struggle to lie to her.

It seemed to be something like this: two teams, red and blue, were going to be formed. The red team was comprised of a group of heavily armoured omnic foot-soldiers with fairly basic AI, normally employed for security on the base. Their weaponry was limited to conventional arms. Reinhardt was introduced to them; they mostly had similar chassis, and he found them difficult to tell apart, but he bowed to the leader of the team and shook hands with the others. The blue team was going to be the the unknown quantities – the recently scouted 'heroes' of Overwatch, a name by which Lieutenant Amari pointedly avoided referring to them. The heroic team was being set up by Lieutenant Amari, and of course Reinhardt was on it – there was also an androgynous Chinese techie, a tiny, glum Scandinavian man, and Captain Morrison to arrive shortly with a final man, by the name of Reyes. 

They were together a motley crew, Reinhardt couldn't help but think – of course, good was a thing you _did_ , not a thing you _were_ , but he found it very hard to imagine how this little group might compare to the raw power he'd been so proud to contribute to in the Crusaders. They weren't about to charge in together. They couldn't break down a door as a team, they couldn't push back a large opposing force, they couldn't turn over a vehicle in an emergency. What _were_ they going to be able to do?

It was a great relief to don his armour again. Liao hung back politely, seemingly willing to offer help at any moment, but it was still a point of pride for Reinhardt that he could do the lot himself. It wasn't that he was eschewing camaraderie so much as a relief that he was still flexible enough to reach each plate and strap. He tried to smile frequently to Liao as he dressed himself, not wanting to appear unfriendly again. He was suited up in under five minutes, and ran the system boot, with his power unit humming gently. It was soothing, and cleared his mind of distractions. He curled his ponytail around his hand a few times and tucked the coiled hair into the back of his neck plate – he'd tried flattening it to his back before, and had found that it dragged at his scalp if he turned quickly – and he put his helmet on, and felt complete.

Reinhardt couldn't feel the wind on his face any more, but the enhanced audio in his helmet let him hear it in a way he hadn't before. When Lieutenant Amari ordered him down to the side of the bunker, he could hear the smoothness of her voice with a greater clarity than he'd previously noticed, and he thought longingly of German caramel.

Reyes and Morrison were at the top of the hill, sharing some kind of joke with Lieutenant Amari. When she laughed, she tucked her hair behind her ear. Reinhardt's heart could hardly take it. Why hadn't he been able to make her light up like that? He was supposed to be the fun one, the one who helped everybody relax and feel like a true band of brothers, male or female.

He knew Morrison to be an elite footsoldier, bio-enhanced, using largely standard weaponry. Reyes appeared to be similar – a sour-faced man in a knitted cap which softened his face a little, he was carrying two large shotguns, and he seemed to lighten up every time anybody spoke to him. Perhaps he was carrying a great weight on his shoulders. Reinhardt had already felt the unpleasantness of being judged by his looks and apparent mood since he arrived, and he had no intention of extending that same discourtesy to others.

It had been some time since his last live fire exercise. He had no issue with the notion behind it – that it was hard to prove the efficacy of this mix of weaponry and defensive mechanisms without actual combat, and of course a vital mission with lives on the line would be far too late for a final test. He was the only untried factor here; the blue team had already become familiar with the fighting styles each member was more used to, and had conducted a number of exercises against old-fashioned target drones. This was the next step, and the fact that his addition to Overwatch was couched in a defensive capacity had convinced Captain Morrison that he would not be required to face off against any non-firing drones.

Reinhardt watched Morrison and Reyes take their positions, and waited for Lieutenant Amari to call for the start of the exercise.

He didn't dislike the waiting. It was peaceful. He could no longer see any other members of either team except for Lieutenant Amari, who he'd kept an eye on as she carefully settled into the bracken at the brow of the ridge above him. The edge of her blue hat was still just visible, and the tip of her rifle if he really concentrated.

The signal came – a little beep in his right ear.

What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion.

Three of the red team appeared immediately. Reyes came out of nowhere and blasted one from behind. The omnic fell forward with quiet dignity, its rear head casing obliterated. It gave a polite thumbs up, and stayed 'dead' on the ground. Reyes didn't so much as glance back; he rolled to avoid potential fire, though the red team were supposed to run a number of safety algorithms before they could fire in the direction of any humans.

Captain Morrison shot one in the chest just as Lieutenant Amari hit another in the head with a harmless nano-boost dart. “Oh no, I'm dead,” it said, and made a mournful deactivation sound as it lay carefully back on the grass to watch the clouds for a bit.

Reinhardt stayed hidden, and searched for the other three.

Two he hadn't even _seen_ staggered forward uncertainly. Something Liao had done? They were quickly knocked down by a hail of bullets coming from the direction he had seen Torbjörn take.

The sixth emerged silently from behind the empty bunker to which Reinhardt had been sent. It looked Reinhardt squarely in the face from a distance and trained its gun upon him. It was an M16A4 assault rifle if he was any judge.

The omnic's foot sank below ground level for just a moment, and it raised its arms as it fell.

(Rabbit hole?)

The gun which had been trained on Reinhardt was now pointing upwards significantly.

_Ana._

Reinhardt engaged his rocket boosters and took a flying leap into the air, hitting the ground with both of his powerful legs as hard as he possibly could. He felt the pressure of the impact shudder through him to the very bone, and was distantly aware that he was really quite high up right now. He raised the central cross and thrust it out defiantly, firing up the shielding as he moved.

The bullets fell, harmless. There was no sprayback; his shield had been designed to wreck the momentum of high-impact projectiles, which was one of the things which limited the battery life so badly.

It _sounded_ as though the entire clip had fallen safely?

Ah.

The landing.

Reinhardt braced hard, his legs before him, heels pointing down. The amount of momentum he had behind him right now was enough to send him off a cliff – forget breaking a leg, he could break the lot if he didn't dig in.

With a crash, he hit the ground. He let go of his shield – the red team omnic wasn't a true enemy, so he doubted that it would fire on him from a second clip. His left foot seemed to hit harder, because of the slope to his side. There was a fiery pain somewhere deep in it as it was forced into the spongy turf, still inside his armour. He thrust his right foot in too, heel down, knowing that if he snapped forward now, he'd break both his shins – and, like a racehorse, might struggle to ever support himself again if he tried to recover.

His ace in the hole was a hammer in the earth. Two handed, he propelled the shaft of his rocket hammer into the turf.

Reinhardt came to a shuddering, soil-churning halt, bolt upright, heat streaming from his backplate generator.

Five humans and six omnic were staring openly at him.

Reyes broke the silence, stepping forward with a begrudging slow clap.

Red and blue team alike joined him. Reinhardt stood very still, knowing that nobody could see his blush through his helmet, but shy even so. It hadn't been about showing off, it had been about keeping Lieutenant Amari safe. That's how it had always been in the army, that's how it had always been in the Crusaders, and that's how he intended to keep it now.

Later he would find out that Lieutenant Amari had maintained the presence of mind to discreetly tag the omnic with a dart through his one-way shield even as he leapt to defend her. _Bip_. They were dead. The operation was a total success.

Reinhardt felt it deep in his heart. This team could become something really special.


	5. Her Fealty

She was tapping her pen against the desk again. That appeared to be what she did when she was annoyed.

Instead of feeling twisted up and sick inside, Reinhardt was filled with heat and excitement. He had done nothing wrong, he knew. So... maybe he hadn't talked extensively about his rocket boosters, and what would happen if he reversed the thrust on his armour. Maybe he should have mentioned that, just a little bit. But he'd almost certainly saved Lieutenant Amari's life today, and try as he might, he couldn't feel the slightest bit of remorse or guilt about it.

The pretence had gone out of the meeting room, too. Still armoured up but for his helmet, Reinhardt was sitting on the floor, his back comfortably propped against a wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. No creaking too-small office chair for him! Hurrah! He waited for her to speak.

“Something of a surprise, Herr Wilhelm.”

It was clearly meant as a leading statement. He hadn't particularly meant to deceive her by not mentioning the functionality, so why not be open about it now?

“Indeed, Sir! I hadn't thought it would be necessary to utilise an unorthodox and incomplete technique such as that at so early a point.” He uncoiled his hair from the back of his neck plate and gave her a big, sincere smile.

“You have used this functionality before?”

“On several occasions. But I have found stopping to be quite a trial, and I would hesitate to call my charge an ability or attribute in the sense you were previously looking for.”

“Hmmm,” she said, and continued to tap her pen. But it seemed to Reinhardt that Lieutenant Amari's face had softened a little. He waited for it. “I must thank you, Herr Reinhardt, as your swift and decisive actions, though unapproved, appear to have quashed any possibility of inadvertent harm coming to any member of our team. Pray note however, that it would be preferable if you make the functions of your armour and weaponry clearer to Overwatch in future. You are our asset now, and we cannot make reasonable judgements for you or involving you if you are not honest regarding your abilities.”

He couldn't contain himself any longer. He felt that he was starting to see through her. That maybe Ana Amari and her words were no more and no less than the sum of their meaning. That maybe he could stop looking for ulterior motives. Maybe she hadn't thanked him because in her mind, lying to a commanding officer through omission was a cardinal sin, and because saving her life was the same as saving the life of any soldier in her unit.

“So,” he smiled even brighter, “are you pleased that no bullets struck you, on the whole?”

She smiled back! It was a pretty little smile, her fine lips pursed into a flower of kindness.

“Yes, I prefer not being shot to being shot, given the option. Did you want a pat on the head, soldier?”

Reinhardt grinned up at her from the floor. “From you, Sir, I would not say no!”

She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile remained, and her words were perfectly frank. “You prefer to be reassured frequently, don't you?”

“Sir, I was – very close with my mentor. My relationships with the other Crusaders have been as close as family. Balderich gave me total honesty and candour, but he has also been a very open, magnanimous person. I would never expect nor request that my commander change their style for me, but if I have been trepidatious, it may be helpful for you to know that this may be a cause.”

She pondered this for a while.

“Reinhardt, I may not be given to emotional displays, but you will find, if it is important to you, that I am not a cold person. Thank you for your honesty.”

“Always,” he said, simply.

\---

There was a pub, not quite in the town, where the tourists and the locals avoided each other, and certainly not on the base, which was far too new to have attracted that kind of trade. It was just a place where somebody had chosen to sell alcohol, on the assumption that Gibraltar was small enough, and customers would show up eventually.

Neither too busy nor uncomfortably quiet. Just Reinhardt's kind of place.

In his new spirit of emotional forthrightness, he had eagerly accepted Ana's invitation for a drink or two, but had immediately asked that he be allowed the chance for a shower and change of clothes, and also that he be allowed to search for some kind of sturdy chair to borrow from a common area. He didn't like going to new places without being sure that he could sit comfortably. Lieutenant Amari had seemed surprised at first – she was so much smaller than Reinhardt; why would she have guessed about the problems he faced with one-size-fits-all furniture? After all, many people would be larger than her and still face no such difficulties. But after she had been surprised, she had been helpful, and sent him to a hangar on the other side of the base, where some of the equipment for rooms and projects not yet fully operational were being stored, and she thought she had seen some fairly short metal benches, probably for outdoor use. It seemed an absurd idea at first, but when he had liberated one and tried it out, Reinhardt felt the metal tense beneath his body, and knew it was barely sufficient for comfort.

“It doesn't matter if anybody doesn't like you taking it,” she had said. “I'm the one who says it's alright.”

She drove a two-seater Jeep to the pub, while Reinhardt and his metal bench sat in the open back, watching the moon rise. He felt certain that the landlord wouldn't like the bench, and equally certain that Lieutenant Amari would have them see the error of their ways.

\---

Seated in comparative comfort on his metal bench, several lighter bar chairs pushed hastily to one side, Reinhardt was relaxed enough to knock back several pints of beer while Ana nursed her first. At first they had been drinking in comfortable silence, which had surprised Reinhardt; he was used to songs and shouting after a big fight. This was good too, though, it really was. He had the opportunity to study Lieutenant Amari's face, and really get to know it. He hoped it wasn't creepy; she was certainly looking at him. It was just that she was really very nice to look at. He liked her face as she ordered the beers, he liked her face when she gave one to him, as if challenging him to pretend he'd wanted anything else to drink, he liked the way her expression went softer whenever she dropped eye contact. Mostly though, he just plain liked her face.

“Tell me about Balderich,” she said, as though they'd been speaking all along.

Where to start?

“He's – the leader of the Crusaders. He recruited me from the army. He made me feel truly welcome; he trained me and housed me and fed me. And when Overwatch called he sent me away.”

“You're still quite young, really, aren't you, Reinhardt?” she remarked. “Oh, don't take that the wrong way. It's just an observation based on your looks as opposed to your personality. You don't do anything by halves. It seems to me that your work becomes your life very quickly. Do you think that's a fair assessment?”

“I think, Sir... that your assessment does Balderich an injustice. He is a truly compelling man, and I have been proud to serve under him these last few years. Besides, Eichenwalde is similar to this Gibraltar base – they're both a little isolated, and despite the natural beauty of both places, the people I've worked with are the most interesting thing to me in either location.” Even bearing in mind the bats, and the possibility of dolphins.

“Hmmmm.” Lieutenant Amari smiled into her beer.

“I have an opinion regarding your own personality, Sir, if you would care to hear it,” volunteered Reinhardt.

“Go on...?”

“I think you enjoy letting other people fill in the rest of the conversation. You let me read into your silences whatever it is I need to read into them, and by responding to something which was never said, I tell you what I need to say, so that you can then yourself respond appropriately.”

She shot him a slightly mischievous look. “Meaning?”

A risky gambit: “Yes, I've had sex with him.”

For a moment she looked as though she was doing the maths, but then she threw back her head and laughed, and it was like the room had filled with stars, and all they were lighting was her.


	6. Her Word

Reinhardt was already hard by the time they reached her room. He was aware of his erection as a distant pounding, brushing the fabric of his trousers and distracting him, making his mind wander and his heart feel light and confused. Lieutenant Amari had given him permission to leave the metal bench, already very slightly bent, in the back of the Jeep, and had bidden him to come with her. Everything was too much, rushing through him all at once – the night air, the smell of her hair, the beer, her fingertips suddenly wrapped into his grasp. She didn't seem to have a problem with grasping exactly as much of his hand as it took to make it feel utterly held.

Her room was a soldier's room, orderly and practical, but just as he'd hoped, Reinhardt caught sight of several personal flourishes before she threw him onto the bed. Formal military photos framed alongside unframed snapshots, where she was smiling, laughing, with her unit – a non-standard issue blanket, for cold nights, with little birds on it – a bottle with Arabic script and leaves on the label, perhaps hair oil – and as soon as she twisted his arm to turn him towards her, then shoved his chest two-handed, he fell easily onto the bed, which creaked and complained but held firm.

It occurred to him that she was very much smaller than him, and surely couldn't have taken him that much by surprise. Besides, he was careful with furniture, and was surprised at himself for falling so readily. But perhaps both her ability to knock him down and his willingness to fall without a struggle could be explained simply: he trusted Lieutenant Amari. Completely.

“I think it's time you removed your clothes, don't you?” she said, neither harshly nor entreatingly. Reinhardt smiled – now that he was getting the hang of her, it seemed like a pretty transparent ploy to establish consent.

“I agree,” he said, and then, “Sir?”

“Speak, Reinhardt.”

“I would like you to know, Sir, that I am completely happy to do as it is that you will for me, and should that change, I would not hesitate to speak up.”

“Very good. What I wanted to hear. Now strip.”

He did, top to bottom, his boxer shorts last. His dick lay semi-erect against his thigh, and the moment she brushed it, using nothing more solid than her gaze, it perked up.

“Yes,” she said, approvingly. “I prefer my soldiers to stand to attention.” She was still dressed, in several layers. This seemed right and normal.

She bent over and inspected his penis. She ran a fingertip up it, which Reinhardt vaguely realised was their first direct sexual contact. But who on earth knew what she was thinking right now, and exactly what she wanted from him? The tingling sensation made him shudder with pleasure as heat flooded to his groin.

“Stay,” she commanded him, and sat beside his feet to remove her trainers, her leg armour, her trousers. He didn't attempt to get a better look; he had been lying flat when she told him to stay, so he was going to stay exactly where he was.

Lieutenant Amari turned to face him, kneeling upon the bed on her knees. She was still wearing her soft grey undershirt, her biotic gauntlets, and her blue beret. She met his eyes as if telling him what was to come, but Reinhardt still wasn't certain of her plans. She stroked her fingertips up from his hair over his chest, brushed and then tweaked his nipple, stroked his jaw, and leaned forward over him, using two fingers beneath his chin to lift his head for a soft, sweet kiss, which made his head swim.

Ana moved carefully up the bed, throwing one leg over him as she crawled. She was so close to his body that the hair between her legs brushed his chest slightly. She crouched over his neck and twisted her fingers into his hair, tightly enough that he could feel the strain of it against his scalp. He couldn't restrain himself: the sensation of it made him moan with pleasure, and he could see the noise coming out of him showing up as a genuine smile on her face.

“Feels good?” she asked.

“So good,” he sighed happily, and she yanked his head to one side, pressing it into the sheets. His hands flexed involuntarily from the impact, and he was about to say something most likely inane when he realised his Lieutenant had released her grip, and was moving even closer.

She rested her hands on either side of his head, and carefully sat up, her shins flat on the bed, her body bolt upright, and her bottom neatly parked on his beard for support. Still light on the verbal instructions, Reinhardt noted, but her suggestion seemed clear enough. He gently raised his hands to her bare waist, giving her the opportunity to tell him no at any time for deciding what to do on his own, and when he was not rebuffed, he held her firmly. It felt as though she was balancing on her knees more than she was sitting on his face, possibly afraid of hurting or suffocating him, though their comparative sizes made that an unlikely prospect in Reinhardt's opinion. There was a tension detectable in her thighs; they were trembling faintly from trying to keep still. When he held her, she began to relax. It would be a stressful position for him to maintain, but she wasn't heavy, not at all.

He hadn't been with a woman before, not one-on-one. He'd had what he might generously call incidental sexual contact with some of the female Crusaders during victory celebrations. If Reinhardt had been asked to define his sexuality, he would have suggested he was actually heterosexual – it's just that there had always been comrades, brothers he loved, and it was worth any effort to make them happy. Balderich especially. But to be the complete focus of a person he both wanted to bring pleasure to _and_ to whom he was deeply personally attracted was something else entirely. He loved Balderich dearly, and would still do anything for him. But if he were to work under Lieutenant Amari, mental pun unintended, for any length of time, he would surely be hers utterly before too long. It was a daunting prospect and he loved it. This was a challenge as grand as any other.

He tasted her carefully. It was a slightly bitter, very human taste, and the texture of her felt good and natural on his tongue. She drew a sharp breath from the sensation, and he was encouraged. He wasn't sure what was going to feel good for her, or precisely how far apart or close everything would be, especially from this angle, but he decided to proceed on the working assumption that everything she had probably worked in a more or less similar way to everything he had. His tongue dipped into her the second time, and she ground needily against his lips. Reinhardt struggled slightly to breathe as he experimented with the position, and found that he was dribbling quite a bit, but he doubted Lieutenant Amari was going to mind all that much if he made this as enjoyable for her as he hoped he could.

A combination of licking inside her and licking her vulva seemed to be very nice for a while, and he even tried to grind his chin against her as he moved around, which Lieutenant Amari also appeared to enjoy. She became very still and her breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps, but she was also getting heavier in his arms, as if afraid of crushing him but unable to support herself any longer. Finally, she leaned forward, her arms flat on the bed, her crotch raised a little above his face. Reinhardt shuffled into a more ideal position, and lifted himself slightly to keep licking at her. He hoped he was getting it right. It felt good to move about; he'd been getting stiff, and his tongue had been starting to ache. He'd never had tongue cramp before, and regarded it as something of a novelty.

Ana took charge: she started to grind against his face and moan. He was still doing his best to give her as much direct pleasure as he could, but she was essentially using him as a tool to get herself off. And he was absolutely, completely, one hundred per cent happy about that thought. Hard as a rock.

She came, whilst pressed against his face. He hadn't been completely sure that he'd know when she did, but Ana, though not apparently a screamer, gave a quite audible protracted moan, which built from nothing more than a breathy gasp to an intense, heaving call of “Ahh – _Reinhardt_ ,” and he'd never been more sure in his life that at this moment, he was in the exact spot in the universe where he was meant to be.

They stayed like that for a short while, and then she moved back down to simply lie on top of him as she came back to herself. It seemed that Lieutenant Amari had finally managed to convince herself that, in charge though she was, her weight was nothing to him. Reinhardt was perfectly aware of her physicality as she pressed into his chest and legs, but it was possible that he was four times as heavy as her, if not even more, and he was in excellent shape. She could use him as a bed every night for all he cared.

He was dimly aware that his cock would still like some attention, but with a half-dressed Lieutenant curled on top of him, he couldn't bring himself to prioritise his sexual pleasure. Not when there was so much happiness to be gained right here and now, by stroking her hair for the first time, by feeling her small movements as she breathed deep, heavy breaths, and hearing her murmur to him that he'd done so well.

“You were such a good boy,” she said, slightly muzzily. “You're going to need some practice, of course. Nobody gets it absolutely right first time. But you were such a good boy.”

Reinhardt felt completely peaceful. “Thank you,” he said, and left it at that.


	7. Her Service

They lay together for a good long while. Reinhardt felt that he should take this opportunity to commit to memory every line of her body, the rhythm of her breathing, and the way her hair moved slightly across his chest as it lifted up and down. Maybe this was just a bonding moment, or a casual thing. They might never be this way again. He wanted to remember.

Lieutenant Amari yawned and stretched out an arm, cat-like. She pushed her hair out of her face and gave Reinhardt a devious look.

“I suppose you think it's your turn now, do you?”

Reinhardt couldn't hide his excitement, but it felt as though it was tempered through her interpretation. He really didn't want to speak up too quickly, but nor did he think it sensible to lie. “If it please you, Sir!”

It seemed his answer _did_ please her. She licked her index finger and began to slowly pinch and rub Reinhardt's nipple, her playfulness turning steadily away from rubbing and towards pinching as she could see that his reaction was favourable. He could see her watching him with her sniper's eyes, missing no details, but he couldn't muster any shyness in front of her; every time he started to think too much and consider his position in all of this, her presence seemed to overwhelm him once again.

Her foot crept down to his dick, and she touched it gently with her bare toes. The attention was thrilling, and he could feel himself strain against her as she pressed it against his body. Her toes were fairly long and had a pleasing grip to them, but it was nothing compared to the intensity and the deftness a hand could provide.

It seemed she knew this, and was teasing him. Reinhardt bit his lip and tried not to complain.

“You've quite a mess in your beard,” she remarked calmly, as if she had nothing to do with it. Reinhardt felt himself blush, and tried fruitlessly to wipe at his face with the back of his hand. Meanwhile she shuffled down the bed a little – hard to be subtle, when moving around a body the size of his – and her hand stole a little stroke of his cock. Reinhardt heard himself squeak out a small shout of surprise and pleasure.

“Mmmm, you like that?” she said quietly. It seemed to Reinhardt that she was getting the measure of him as much as he was of her now.

“Sir, I do. Very much.”

“That's nice for you,” she said, and squeezed his balls uncomfortably hard.

“Aaaah!” cried Reinhardt, and then, “Sorry.”

“Oh, was that a bit uncomfortable?” she asked sweetly.

“A little, Sir, but that's not to say that what you did didn't have its charms...”

She laughed at that, and stroked his cock with her thumb. It jumped in her hand, and he heard himself moan again.

Lieutenant Amari held his shaft in her fingers and began to rub the tip of her thumb over the tip of his dick, swirling his precum about and drawing it down into her palm, pulling it down slowly and back up once again, tantalising, and never _quite_ as fast as Reinhardt would like her to go. He squirmed, and she ran her thumb over his slit again, slowly watching his reaction, her face drawing ever closer to his crotch.

Her tongue slowly stretched out towards it, and met his cock with a warmth which seemed to burn. She let her tongue sit completely motionless for a moment, and then flicked it up.

“Gott in himmel,” he moaned, helplessly, and pulled the covers over his face.

“No hiding,” scolded Ana, and swatted at him. He pushed the covers back down, and found he couldn't hide the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry, Sir. I'll try not to in future,” he managed, and found himself moaning involuntarily once again as her hand returned to him, with torturous, glacial slowness. “Oh, _oh._ Please.”

“Not yet, I think,” she said coolly.

“Aaaah – okay, sorry to beg without your say-so, Sir.”

“Better.”

She increased the pace, sending heat flooding through him.

 _“Aaaaaaargh.”_ He wouldn't beg, not if she didn't want him to, but the noise, the tension, it had to come out somewhere.

Lieutenant Amari slowed down again. Reinhardt gasped at the change in pace, and gripped the covers. He wasn't allowed to beg, he wasn't allowed. It came out as a whimper. She let go entirely, ran her fingers through the soft curls of his pubic hair, gripped a handful and slowly pulled.

“Oh...” he moaned. It felt so right. Every time it was too much to handle, she would do something which let the tension go again. The pain took him, and somehow his erection didn't bother him so much any more.

She flicked a finger sharply against his cock, making colours flash before his eyes for a moment, and began vigorously jerking him off. He knew not to take it for granted, and he was right – just at the moment before coming, just as he started to lose his sense of the room, of himself, of her, she let go, stood up on the bed, and placed her bare foot over his neck. Gripping with her toes, pulling at the soft flesh, she started to apply pressure.

Lieutenant Amari was going to do it, Reinhardt realised through his confused haze of pleasure and pain, stimulation and denial. She wasn't shy about what he could take any more. Or was it that he'd said he'd tell her to stop if it was a problem? Then again... even if it did turn out to hurt more than seemed sensible, he really didn't feel like backing out now...

Her other foot lifted off the bed. He could feel an awful pressure on his windpipe, and the blood in his ears rushed suddenly. It did hurt, but distantly. Reinhardt was more aware of the fact that he was harder than he'd ever been in his life. He could still draw breath, slightly, and it occurred vaguely to him that he might be able to go on like this for longer than he'd thought. If he focused, he could see her from underneath. She was still naked from the waist down. It was a wonderful view.

A voice in the distance called him back to his senses a little; he listened closely and heard it again. It was Lieutenant Amari's voice. Who else?

“Mine,” she said, fiercely, and stepped back onto the bed to look down on him.

“Oh good,” he said softly. She nodded her approval.

“You are satisfied with this present arrangement?”

“Very,” Reinhardt said, inadequately, and stared weakly at the ceiling.

Lieutenant Amari began to run her foot over his dick again, still standing above him, carefully balanced.

It wasn't enough. He needed to say more. Whether or not it was her style, she must by now know it was his. That he wasn't faking it or mocking her. That the world needed heroes, and heroes felt things strongly and loved hard and often.

“Sir,” he said, more clearly, and caught her eyes as she pushed his dick around. “Sir, I pledge myself unto your service. Until the day I die or am dismissed from your side, I swear on my honour, on my heart –” she ran her foot rather firmly over his balls, sending confused hot flashes of pain and pleasure throughout his body – “ _hnnnngh_ that I will serve you and no other. I, I want to stand by you, and learn everything about you. I want to fall in love with you so hard I never recover.”

He realised in a slightly detached, overwhelmed way, that he was crying. Ana looked down at him, her expression revealing nothing.

“You mean it?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Every last word?”

“Every last word of it, Sir!”

Ana sat beside him, pressed up warmly against his side. Gently she began to stroke his overstimulated aching cock at a more normal pace. It was so quick. He had been truly desperate. Almost immediately he felt his awareness ebb away a little, as it was wont to at times like this, and he reached down in his confusion to try and touch her, any part of her. His hand found her leg, so small under his hand, and she did not rebuff him.

Finally, it arrived. His eyes squeezed shut, his free hand pulling at the covers, every part of him ablaze with a low burning fire, he permitted himself just this: her name. He looked into her eyes, and called out “ _Ana_!” and he came so hard his legs hurt and his head began to pound, a desperate rush of energy out into the world, an affirmation that he was here and he was right and good and _hers_.

He sobbed in her arms as she stroked his hair.

“There,” she said, not unkindly. “That wasn't so hard now, was it, my dear?”

He shut his eyes and enjoyed the peacefulness of it all for a moment. He could hear her heartbeat beneath his ear, and his own pulse from the blood rushing in his head. But he couldn't let the obvious joke pass, either: “It was for a while, Sir, but it certainly is no longer.”

She gave him an obliging short laugh, and stayed smiling as she pushed him to a sitting position and began to plait his hair. He couldn't imagine a more peaceful sign of ownership over him. Her fingertips were cool against his scalp, and she moved him to one side to get a better angle as she parted, smoothed and pulled at his hair. He went where he was put and stayed.

Through all this, Reinhardt didn't so much as open his eyes. He knew in the very soil of his bones that he was in the right place now, and he hoped that he would be able to stay here for as long as he should be needed.

He decided that he would like to grow old with her.


	8. Her Touch

It was less than a week later, following a trip to the mainland, that Reinhardt found himself summoned at no notice. He had spent every night since that first one in Lieutenant Amari's quarters, the hated too-small bed in his bland little room long forgotten. She had even mentioned that she was in the process of ordering a reinforced bed in his name, which naturally would be installed at her discretion.

She had sent for him to come to the meeting room where they had first talked about strategy, and where she had made him cry for the first, but not last time.

He meant at first to ask what she wanted of him, and then reasoned she would make it obvious soon enough.

“Sir,” he said sunnily, just pleased to see her face, and he leaned his shoulder against the wall to watch the clouds gather for a bit. Lieutenant Amari stood alongside him peacefully and did the same. Her head was roughly level with his chest, even without his armour.

Some time passed, and the sky began to turn gold in the pre-sunset light.

“I have been thinking about the way that you speak,” she told him.

“I see,” replied Reinhardt, who wondered where this was going.

“You are a loud man. Often a man of many words.”

“I agree,” he said, but he was privately worried that she'd got him wrong after all, that she'd mistaken volume for churlishness or lack of forethought. Still, she'd only said he was loud and talkative. And she was undoubtedly right in that respect.

“I don't believe you ever say anything that you don't mean,” she said, with deliberation, and looked him in the eye. “Would you suggest that is a fair assessment of your personality?”

Reinhardt lit up. It was true! The dragons and the fire in his speech, the loud encouragements he liked to use – they were unusual, they stood out, but they were _real_ and they were _his_ and they were _him_ just as it was with his too-big-for-many-places body.

“Sir, I believe you are correct. I'm aware that I say a lot and that some of it's unusual. That... not everybody wants to hear about heroes, and everything that myths and legends entail. But I don't believe I've ever told you a word of untruth.”

“That is good to hear,” Lieutenant Amari said, smiling up at him.

Reinhardt smiled back to her, and wondered what had put the thought into her head. The clouds were piling up into great whipped mountains on the horizon, and the water was shimmering in the light of the setting sun.

“You said a lot of things on the night when I first took you to my bed.”

Oh, _that_. Reinhardt remembered his impromptu pledge of fealty in something of a haze, but he was reasonably sure that he wouldn't have said anything that didn't come from the heart.

“Sir, I don't recall them with great clarity – my attention was divided somehow,” he said with a wink, “but I don't believe I gave you any words in which I did not have faith.”

“Very good,” she said, and turned back to watch the sun lowering with him. Reinhardt thought his eyes might start to play tricks on him – if he kept longing to see a dolphin, was he just going to see something which looked like one, whether there was a real dolphin or not?

“I bought you a little something in Spain,” Ana said, lightly.

He smiled back at her. The protocol for such a situation, the polite thing to say, would surely be “you shouldn't have” or “you didn't need to.” But Ana was in charge here. If she had bought him something then either she _had_ needed to, or she had simply wanted to. Why invalidate her wishes and go against the grain?

“Thank you,” he said, warmly.

She flashed him a capital-l Look, but, apparently detecting his customary sincerity, ended up sticking out her tongue slightly instead. “You don't know what it is yet,” she pointed out, pouting.

“Do I need to know in order to feel grateful?” The golden clouds had a texture he almost felt he could reach out and touch. “You were away from me and thought of me. That alone would be an honour, Sir, and a gift even more so.”

“Come away from the window,” she beckoned him, and he did. She removed a small paper bag from one of her belt pouches. “This will be between you and me,” she said, simply, and gestured to him to drop his trousers.

Struggling to find the balance between hesitating and looking over-eager, Reinhardt chose to oblige with deliberation in his movements. Boots, socks, trousers, pants, until he was standing before Lieutenant Amari undressed from the waist down. He thought of the first time he'd seen her half-naked, and hoped he could bring her even a tenth of the visual pleasure she'd brought him.

“Very good,” she said approvingly, and reached in towards his groin, her head bent. He couldn't see what she was doing for a moment, but the cold touch of smooth metal against his penis awakened his senses in a flash.

“Oh!” he blurted out.

“Cold?” smirked Ana, who was still moving her hands.

“Indeed! Quite a pleasant sensation, in fact!” The metal was warming to his body temperature already, but the cold touch remained in his mind, a stimulating burn which was really quite arousing.

Except, as she kept pulling him around, things became _tight_ down there all of a sudden. He felt very strange, and extremely stimulated.

“There,” said Lieutenant Amari, and pulled his cock forward to give him a better look.

It was a cage. A ring was tightened around his balls, with a stainless steel sheath over his shaft, and his head was peeking through the rounded bars at the tip of the device.

 _”Oh,”_ said Reinhardt.

“Indeed,” said Lieutenant Amari, stepping back to admire her work.

“A most special, personal gift,” managed Reinhardt, who was captivated by the sight. “Thank you, Sir.” The tightness felt right. His cock was pushing against it slightly, and the grip around it reminded him of Ana's hand. He could imagine already what it would feel like, having it tucked away again under his clothes where nobody could see it. He would spend every minute of every day knowing, feeling her invisible touch – unable to relieve the pressure of his arousal, but at her whim to wait for the right time.

There was a little padlock secured on top of it.

 _“Thank you,”_ he breathed in awe.

“There are practical considerations,” she said, in a tone probably meant to snap him back to reality. “If you feel any chafing at any inappropriate time, you are to leave having remembered a meeting with me and apply lotion. I'm not having you damage my property through stubborn-mindedness.” She gave his caged dick another push. It felt incredible. “We will review the use of this device at first after one hour, and then after twenty-four hours. Your condition will be monitored. If you don't keep yourself clean despite the obvious difficulties this will entail, I may have to take it away from you.”

Reinhardt realised that he _really_ didn't want that.

“Sir, I see that you have obtained for me a cage in a style that I'm sure will allow me to clean myself. I do aspire to be presentable to you at all times.”

“Then all I will monitor for now will be your own wellbeing. I've read your files and I know you're inclined to overlook it. Even if you're disappointed, Reinhardt, I want you to come to me if it doesn't fit correctly. There are alternatives, and I intend to get this right.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Reinhardt felt more accepted and understood and pampered than he ever had in his life. This little extra piece of armour, he thought, might end up being one of the most important he ever wore.

He hoped she knew he wasn't going along with this just to please her. That it wasn't something he'd ever really looked into, that he'd just gone with the flow when it came to sex. But that he wanted so much to work hard to make her happy, and this gave him a very real way to do it – he could be good for her at all times like this, no matter where he was or where she was. It was hard not to lose himself in the excitement of it, and his cock jerked a little in its cage. Pressed up against the bars, it was uncomfortable. Noticeable. Thrilling.

“Now get dressed,” Lieutenant Amari said affectionately, and slapped his wide thigh loudly, without causing him any great pain.

Reinhardt pulled on his clothes happily, as she fastidiously folded the empty bag for recycling.

It never even occurred to him to try and see where she'd put the key. He had no need to.


End file.
